


Sin Against Your Servant

by azryal



Category: Vikings (TV)
Genre: Accidental Voyeurism, IT'S NOT ALL DARK, M/M, Obsessive Behaviour, Promise, THERE IS SWEET IN THIS STORY, dark!Ragnar
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-10
Updated: 2013-05-10
Packaged: 2017-12-10 23:15:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,017
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/791302
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/azryal/pseuds/azryal
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ragnar notices Athelstan and Floki becoming friends. Then more than friends. He makes bad choices. </p><p>Set during the events of episodes 5 and 6.</p><p>There is a companion piece. <a href="http://archiveofourown.org/works/803930">Your People Will Be My People</a> is the moment when Athelstan and Floki crossed that line.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sin Against Your Servant

It started innocently enough. They told stories, Athelstan’s infinite curiosity drawing all to participate. There were lists of the Realms, the halls, who they belonged to, and stories of the myriad of relationships between the gods. It moved to more serious matters quickly; the creation of the world and the birth of the race of humans.  Then it became a competition of who had the better heroes.

Athelstan won. It was a surprise to all, including the teller, who wore a shocked expression as the children, Lagertha, and Helga all shouted his name.

It had been the story of a boy named David, who had slain a giant with one, well-flung stone. Even Ragnar had turned to listen, for such a tale was worth a listen at any fire. Athelstan had done well, describing the desperate journey of the small defenders and the ferociousness of the giants who threatened their families. The boy, David, was the youngest and of the least stature of his brethren, yet he faced the leader of the giants bravely. His faith had guided his hand and sent the stone directly between the giant’s eyes.

Bjorn had taken to it, immediately. He had never heard of a sling and asked endless questions about how to make one.

Floki had conceded and he and Ragnar had looked at each other as the children cheered.

“A boy takes down a giant,” Floki said, considering. He cast a sideways glance at Athelstan, who was blushing and losing the battle to hide his grin. “And with naught but his faith.”

“There was a rock, too,” Ragnar replied, taking his knife up again. He turned around to the table.

“Perhaps you should hide all the stones in the village,” Floki said, laughing at his back. “One can never be too careful.”

Ragnar had heard Athelstan gasp, then stifle his laughter. He turned his head, looking at Athelstan’s face, but found the wide-eyed stare directed at Floki, and not himself. The smile was wide and genuine, and once reserved for Ragnar only.

He had become a bit taciturn after that, ignoring them the rest of the evening.

The night before the combat, after he and Lagertha had made desperate, ecstatic love, he had fallen asleep almost immediately.  He woke later, much later if the empty lamp was to be trusted, by soft laughter and voices too low to truly hear. He opened his eyes and saw Floki and Athelstan, sitting close in the only empty space by the fire. They shared one fur and one cup, leaned shoulders together. He couldn’t see Athelstan’s face, for he was turned towards his companion, but what shone in Floki’s eyes was all too clear. He was yet another won over by his slave’s gentle earnestness.

Ragnar made a show of rolling over, away from them. He squashed down his desire to interfere and forced himself to sleep.

The next day, Ragnar had moved on, letting go of the strange fury he felt when he’d heard them laugh together to focus on his battle. He’d seen Athelstan looking concerned….no, more than that. He looked frightened and intent and watched him limp off of the mooring. He’d offered some confidence and a friendly clap on the shoulder. That’s when he noticed Floki’s hand on Athelstan’s arm. It had dropped away as soon as he’d gotten close, but he had burned at the thought of it.

Floki had stayed beside Athelstan for the fight. He tried not to see, but when the Earl’s ax had swiped his already wounded shoulder he heard a shout and knew who it was. As he turned to gather his strength, his eyes found his slave and saw that Floki had one arm around his chest. The man was speaking into Athelstan’s ear, pulling him back. The part of him that was protector was glad, for he did not want Athelstan in the midst of this. The punishment for interrupting was too severe.

But the greater part of him, the part that took such pleasure in owning the strange and compelling young man, was afire with envy.

He’d turned back to the earl, channeled that rage, and brought Haraldson down within seconds.

When Ragnar stood before the chair, his eyes found Athelstan at the back of the room. He was perched on a stool, to allow an uncluttered view of the proceedings, and Ragnar was glad. He had but to raise his eyes to see his slave and his slave would see him. For the next few moments, all was right with the worlds, but after Rollo came forward, he saw Athelstan’s bright stare drifted to his side. To where Floki sat, laughing at the scene before him.

Ragnar embraced his brother and his eyes darkened as they stayed on his slave.

For his part, Athelstan seemed completely unaware of his anger. He should have realized when Ragnar took him to see the earl’s slave and gleefully told him of her fate that Ragnar was unhappy. Yet it did not stop him from smiling at Ragnar later. Nor did it stop his persistence. So when he asked once again about Ragnarok, Ragnar had called for the Seer, the weed, and insulted Athelstan’s wit and wisdom in one stroke.

 _Everyone_  had laughed at the simple Christian who could not handle his smoke. Ragnar had laughed the loudest. Athelstan was choking, readying to clear his stomach on the floor. But then Floki was there, helping Athelstan to his feet. One strong arm went beneath his shoulders and the other supported his front as he took them both outside.

Ragnar had reached for his slave as they passed. He lifted Athelstan’s head, met the watery and distressed stare and made sure that his sneer was seen. The two of them had stayed out in the night for hours, forgoing the celebration inside. They laughed, too, carrying over the din in the hall to where Ragnar brooded in his cups. Lagertha had given him a weary look, one that spoke of her exasperation. He’d snarled at her and she shook her head. “You’re a fool, husband,” she said, and left him to drink in peace.

There had been confusion and hurt on Athelstan’s face when Ragnar let him go, which should have made him feel better. He cursed through the sleepless night that it did not.

The weeks of winter saw Floki and Athelstan always in each other’s company. They would sit on the same bench at meals, occasionally across the table, if only to throw food at each other. The children would be drawn in, sometimes even Arne or Leif, until Lagertha would be forced to take them all to task. Then they would giggle incessantly.

Ragnar would be drunk before the end of it.

Often though, it was by the fire where they were found. They would meet late, after all the cleaning and putting away was done. Athelstan would hold a pitcher of mead, ready for service should he be called. Ragnar sometimes called him, sometimes ignored him. And sometimes, Ragnar would call him over and over, giving him a chance to sit and fall back into the conversation just to have him up again. Floki would look over at Ragnar, eyes narrowed, but say nothing.

Even when Ragnar found new duties for Athelstan, Floki would wait.

One night, long into winter and the endless nights, Ragnar joined them. He sat heavily on the bench beside his slave and took the back of Athelstan’s neck in a firm grip. “So, what are we discussing tonight?”

His fingertips dug into tender spots and made Athelstan wince.

Floki looked was pleased, at first. When he saw Athelstan’s pained grimace, his manner turned to displeasure. “We’re discussing trees, Ragnar. He tells me there is magic in England, though he says they are only stories. The trees, though, they have the same meanings, the same magic as here.”

Athelstan said nothing. He sat still and quiet, eyes on the floor.

Ragnar tightened his grip and smiled at Athelstan’s pained gasp. “What do you say to that, priest? Is there no Christian rebuttal against the magic present in both our worlds?

His slave swallowed, arching away from Ragnar’s hand. Ragnar shook him.

“You think it too good to share with me?”

Actively pulling away now, Athelstan raised his eyes. They were fearful, squinting against the water gathering. Ragnar smiled and squeezed until he gave a small cry. He reached for Ragnar’s wrist. “My Lord, please!”

Ragnar’s other hand came up and slapped him. “Don’t! You don’t lay your hands on me, slave.”

“What is wrong with you?” Floki spat. He was sitting up straight, tense with repressed rage. “Let him go!”

Ragnar’s smile turned into a sneer. He threw Athelstan to the floor and sent a boot to his stomach. “Get more wood for the fire. Be quick about it.”

Athelstan only hesitated for a moment, fighting for breath on his hands and knees. He stood with an arm over his stomach. Without looking at either of them, he said, “Yes, my lord.”

Ragnar watched him leave.

Floki watched Ragnar. “I would say earldom does not suit you.”

“And I would say you waste my slave’s time,” Ragnar retorted, taking his cup.

“Oh, is he your slave again? No one can keep the days straight. Perhaps you should chart it out for us on a stick, so we’ll know.” Floki’s tone was mostly mocking, but it had a sharp, furious edge to it.

“Why do you seek him out?” Ragnar questioned. “What does he offer someone like you?”

His eyes gone dangerously cold, Floki leaned closer. “What does he not offer you?”

Athelstan returned, laden with split logs. He did not look at them as he stacked them carefully in their basket.

“Why do you do this to him? He’s your friend one day, your slave the next, and within both you seek the best and worst ways to hurt him. You confuse him, Ragnar,” Floki said.

 _That’s only fair_ , Ragnar thinks, _he confuses me, too_.

“Good,” was all he said, smirking at Athelstan over his cup.

 

***** 

 

On Frigg’s Day, two mornings later, Ragnar was silently stalking a large, brown rabbit when a not-distant noise scares the creature off. He lowered his bow with a curse. The thing had been thick and fattened on fresh shoots, and would have been delicious. Now he had to start over again.

He didn’t mind, so much. The morning had been pleasantly mild, warming from a late frost. Moving through the trees, hearing only their rustle and sway, was always restive, clearing his thoughts but for the few that truly deserved his consideration. It was common for him to leave the wood calm and content, even if no game was caught. He hoped for that today, as he found himself restless, easily distracted, and his hall suffered from his temper.

Sighing, Ragnar turned to retrace his path and heard the snap of a stick up ahead. Memories of raid and ambush were still too vivid and his focus sharpened, reacting a flush of alarm. He ducked behind a tree and lowered to a crouch. Waited. Careless, noisy footsteps came closer and he could tell the maker had no evil intentions, just by the way its tread meandered. Not hunting. Not trailing. This was just a person on a walk, swinging a stick as they went.

From behind him, Ragnar heard singing, and he smiled.

He crept around the base of the tree until he could see the songster. Athelstan was only a few yards away, stick in hand, words lifted into the air by a voice that rang true, like a bell. He sang to the treetops, staring up at them as if searching. Ragnar traced the line of his neck with his eyes. He watched the movement of his throat and felt a stirring in his loins. When Athelstan lowered his head his mouth stole Ragnar’s attention. He was mesmerized by the shapes it formed, the moisture built in the corners. Athelstan swept his tongue out to gather the stray spittle and the stirring became a rolling boil.

Athelstan stopped mid-word, went totally still. A sweet smile stretched his lips and a silent, delighted laugh rocked his head back. Ragnar followed his line of sight and saw the plump rabbit he’d hunted, springing closer. And closer still, as if called to Athelstan by his song. It was only a few feet from where the other stood and it did not scamper away when he knelt. One hop, two, and Athelstan reached out, fingertips softly grazing the creature’s head.

Ragnar let loose his arrow.

It struck squarely in the creature’s chest and knocked it over, lifeless. Athelstan’s shocked cry was loud enough to startle birds from the high limbs above him. He fell back in horror and turned his face towards Ragnar, revealed now in his concealment. “Ragnar!”

Ragnar moved quickly, crossing the distance to take up the hare and pull the arrow free. He took out his knife, cut into the soft belly and tore into it with his fingers. Athelstan made a startled, sickened sound when he pulled out the bloody mess of the creature’s heart, and began to crawl backwards.

Before he could go more than a foot, Ragnar was on him. He straddled Athelstan’s body, letting his weight pin the other to the ground. His empty hand took a fistful of hair and yanked hard enough to make Athelstan shout. Ragnar shoved the heart into his open mouth, forcing it back and down his throat.

“Eat it. Take its spirit into you,” he ordered. His voice was sharp, strung-tight with want.

Athelstan fought, tried to pull Ragnar’s fingers from his mouth, pushed at his chest until he began to choke on the heart. Even when his teeth set to Ragnar’s fingers they did not withdraw and he was forced to swallow or gag on it. Tears were falling down his temples to catch like dew in his dark hair. Blood smeared copiously around his lips and up his cheeks, crimson paint on an ivory canvas.

The boil was now a tempest.

Ragnar pulled his hand away and dug his fingers into Athelstan’s jaw.

He needed no offers. Athelstan was his slave. He would simply _take_.

 

****

 

The food was good. The talk was merry. His family surrounded him, blood and spirit bond, alike.

If anyone noticed Athelstan’s silence, his bruises or his slight limp, no one spoke of it.

Ragnar was grinning. It was an open, happy look that many had missed. They did not question what brought it back. When he grabbed Athelstan about the waist forced him to sit down on a bench, they all laughed and began to pass him pieces of rabbit and bread. There were no comments on his slave’s terrified eyes, or the ashen hue to his face. They had all stopped trying to figure out the odd little man long ago.

Except for one.

Floki was not laughing now. He watched with a narrow gaze as Ragnar wrapped an arm around Athelstan’s shoulders and picked up a piece of meat, traced around trembling red lips. “Open,” Ragnar commanded and he did. Ragnar’s fingers dallied within and he whispered against his slave’s ear, “Suck them clean.”

Athelstan obeyed.

Ragnar fed his slave the contents of his plate in this manner. He was drunk on the quakes he felt against him, on the quickened pace of Athelstan’s breathing. Athelstan kept his eyes on the table top, not looking up or around at the gathering. Still, no one said anything.

Floki slammed down his cup, causing a brief lapse in conversation. He stood, knocked over his drink, and walked out the door.

“What is wrong with him?” Rollo questioned, speaking aloud what they all were thinking.

“Perhaps the trees told him a tale he didn’t like,” Ragnar answered, shrugging.

And the laughter returned.

Athelstan had lifted his gaze to follow Floki’s exit. Now he dropped it again, swallowing thickly. Ragnar slid his hand down, following the bumps of Athelstan’s spine to take him at the waist. He held tight there, pressing painfully into the bruises he’d left. “After this is cleared away, you may spend time with him. As much as you like,” Ragnar told him, softly. He pressed a sweet kiss to his slave’s cheek.

Blinking rapidly, Athelstan’s face crumpled a bit before he gathered his composure. Ragnar released him, let his palm trail over the delightful, plush curve that had given him so much pleasure that day as Athelstan rose. He watched with a satisfied smile as his slave set to his work.

 

***** 

 

Ragnar stepped outside, needing to piss before he took himself to bed. His steps were a little wobbly and he wavered when he stood still, but he felt very well. Very well, indeed. Humming to himself as he watered the corner of the animal pen, he smiled up at the stars. He was sure Odin smiled back.

He was tightening his laces when he heard the voices.

“I’ll be…I’m fine, Floki. He didn’t hurt me that badly.”

“Are you still bleeding?”

“No.”

Ragnar stepped back, going deeper into the shadows as Athelstan limped around the side of the building. Floki was with him, one arm hovering protectively just shy of touching his waist.

“Thank the gods. Use the paste every day until the pain is fully gone. I want no fever to take you.”

“Thank you. I will.”

“Are you sure you’re…” Floki asked, bending down awkwardly so he could see Athelstan’s face. He put out a hand, as if he wished to lay it on him.

Athelstan took that hand and pulled it to his cheek. “You can touch me.”

Floki’s thumb stroked the bone beneath his eye. “He hurt you.”

“But  _you_  haven’t.” He stepped closer and his voice took a more desperate note. “Don’t stop touching me, Floki. Sometimes it’s the only thing that keeps me together.”

Ragnar felt his satisfaction with the day evaporate.

“He wasn’t like this before. He could be hard, sometimes spiteful, but he wasn’t…” Athelstan’s voice trailed away. “He wasn’t cruel. I only wish I knew what I did to deserve his contempt.”

“You did nothing, Athelstan,” Floki said. He sounded angry and worried. And bitterly disappointed. “You are good and faithful in your service, not that he deserves it.”

“My service means nothing to him. I was useful, at first, but now…”

“You’re what?”

“I do not fight. I can bear him no sons. I can’t even wield a steady hammer. I’m a poor choice of spoils.”

Floki dropped his hand and took a step back. “You don’t have to forgive him.”

“Oh, I won’t, not for a long time. Perhaps never,” Athelstan said on a bitter laugh. “But I have to live here. I must make do.”

“For now.”

Athelstan gave him a small smile. “For now.”

“I don’t want to let you go back in there.” Floki touched his face again.

 “There’s no other choice.”

“I could stay.”

“It would make him angry.”

“The day I can’t handle Ragnar Lothbrok will be the day the sun is eaten.”

“Let’s not tempt the fates. If he sent you away…now…”

Floki exhaled loudly. He tilted his head and focused his gaze on the area just above Athelstan. Then he nodded in vigorous assent to a silent command. “I’ll be here in the morning.”

Athelstan smiled. “I’ll look for you.”

Floki turned away and loped off into the shadows. Athelstan watched him go.

Ragnar watched Athelstan. Saw him set his jaw, breathe deeply, and make his painful way into the hall.

“Fuck,” he muttered under his breath. “Damn him. Damn them both. Curse them both to Hel.”

 

***** 

 

He went to his bed but sleep proved a devious, sadistic bitch. His dreams were a mix of delight and despair and woke him more than once. They would tease him with visions of startling clarity, memories that affected him viscerally. Then they would become something…awful, things he only half-saw, or ignored, and he would jerk upright in a sweat.

_Athelstan’s mouth was open, red with blood and swollen with bites and kisses. The moans were dragged out of him, forced out, as Ragnar rode him in the leaves and dirt. Then Ragnar was walking away, and he heard Athelstan as he heaved, puking the heart out._

They were all like this; a clear picture of fucking his slave, of the pleasure they had both received from it, followed by a sharp reminder of the truth.

_Athelstan kissed him back. It was good and right as he could have wanted it. He felt the grip on his arms, the urgent press against his thigh, and smiled around Athelstan’s tongue. Then he had no patience, no time for coddling. He thrust into Athelstan without pause, shoving until he could see nothing of his cock for a thicket of black curls. Athelstan’s hands were on his stomach, pushing as he shrieked and arched away. Ragnar had wiped blood from his thighs before he dressed._

The man was  _his slave_ , and he was free to use his slave as he wished. Athelstan knew this, had brought the matter up himself, but still had the impudence to look surprised when Ragnar had torn away his tunic.

_His eyes rolling back, Athelstan arched again, this time as his come shot up over Ragnar’s hand, his own chest. There were leaves and twigs tangled in his hair, some stuck to his throat and shoulders. Ragnar waited until he collapsed back to the earth, delicately picking the detritus off of his skin so that he could see the bruises beneath them. Athelstan lay listless while Ragnar finished. He stared up at the sky with empty eyes._

Ragnar kicked the cover off of his legs and frowned at the timbers above.

 

***** 

 

Athelstan was stirring oats over the fire when Ragnar found him. He watched for a moment, taking note of the dark smudges around his mouth and the more ghastly bruising on his neck. He’d not thought himself so brutal, so needlessly vicious. Not during fucking, at least. If he was rough it was the want of both parties. He’d never forced anyone, never taken to rape in either conquest or boredom. The very idea seemed joyless to him.

As he stared at the man cooking his breakfast, he questioned his own sanity.

“Athelstan,” Ragnar called.

He jumped, stood a bit straighter, and answered. “Yes, my lord?”

Athelstan kept his voice steady, but his hand on the wooden spoon trembled. And he didn’t look at Ragnar, once.

“Are you…?” Ragnar found his own voice uneven. “Are you all right?”

“I’m fine,” Athelstan answered, soft but brisk.

Ragnar took slow steps, coming closer. “You needn’t do that. You should rest, let another tend the cooking today.”

“I’m well enough to work.”

He was within reach now. Ragnar could put out a hand and touch him without stretching. He didn’t. “I’m sorry. I am. I know you don’t believe me but it’s true.”

“I believe you,” Athelstan said, still staring at the pot.

Ragnar scoffed. “So easily?”

“Are you ready for breakfast?” Athelstan took a step back, turning towards the shelves of stacked bowls.

“Athelstan, wait.”

Ragnar’s hand closed on one wrist and Athelstan froze. Looking down, he saw his fingers aligning with the shadows that wringed it. He let go, immediately. “Please, Athelstan. Rest today. I…I am truly sorry.”

“If I take to my bed,” Athelstan said, very slowly, “I will look like the whore they all say I am.”

“What?” Ragnar asked, taking one angry step closer. “Where do you hear this? Who says these things?”

“Don’t you ever come outside of your own head and listen to the world around you?”

“No, because I care nothing for what others say!”

“Haraldson thought much the same,” Athelstan told him, very softly. “Be careful.”

Ragnar reached for him, took his arm and pulled him close. “Is that a threat?”

“It is a reminder, my lord, that you rule these people, and if you would disregard their talk, you would forfeit your rule.”

“Who talks, priest? Who says these things about me? About you?”

“Your men, your own brother. Everyone. They fear your wrath, true, but they fear your lust for power more.” Athelstan yanked his arm out of Ragnar’s grip and backed away.

“And you?”

“In the eyes of the people here, there was no other reason to keep me. I have no value in this world. I neither fight nor build. Or birth. I am  _useless_  as anything else, so whore I must be.”

Ragnar stared, open-mouthed and silent. Neither one of them moved for a long moment, but then Athelstan’s eyes slid to the side. His face changed from bitter resignation to a soft smile. “Good morning, Gyda. Would you like some breakfast?”

Gyda’s eyes were wide. “Yes, please.”

She gave her father a wide berth. The fear in her eyes hurt his heart.

“Ragnar,” Lagertha said from behind him. “We must talk.”

 

***** 

 

Talk, it seemed, was actually interrogation. Lagertha demanded to know what happened. She asked him endlessly what he was thinking, why he would do such a thing. And she wanted to know what was next. Which atrocity she should prepare herself for.

If Ragnar had known, he would have told her.

“Gods, woman, will you leave off?” he muttered, rubbing his eyes.

“You _will not_ turn into the sort of man who abuses those who cannot fight back. Not while you are my husband,” his wife answered. She was dangerously quiet in her anger, a thing which unnerved him more than the sharpest blade.

“I did not abuse him! He had his pleasure. I made sure of it,” Ragnar snarled at her.

“Pleasure forced is still a torment, and now he can barely walk. His throat looks like a wild beast set to it. Do you think me stupid?” Lagertha leaned across the table to look into his face. “Since we entered this hall as lord and lady, you have become a miserable tyrant to him. As if his life here was not misery enough. Why can’t you let him have a moment of peace? A bit of happiness?”

Ragnar’s eyes narrowed. “You knew.”

“That he had found a friend?” Lagertha asked. “Yes, of course I knew.”

“He had friends.”

“He had us, and we are his masters. We are not his friends, not in any world. We may care for him and him for us, but in the end, he’s a slave. A wise slave would befriend his master as best he could, don’t you think?”

“You think he lies? That he plays us false?”

She stared at him, hard, and after a moment a look of surprised revelation came to her face. “You’re jealous! You’re jealous of Floki for bearing his affection.”

Ragnar bristled when she began to laugh. “You’ve gone mad.”

“Only in that it took me this long to see it. Athelstan turns his smiles on Floki now, not you.” Lagertha had to sit down, hands on her belly while her humors took her.

“I don’t think it’s funny.”

She waved a hand at him. “Oh, be quiet. It is. It is because of all the people in this village, they are the two most alike. And you never noticed.”

“Floki and Athelstan alike?” Now Ragnar laughed. “You’ve been at the mushrooms.”

“Both are guided by voices we don’t hear. Both of them are here but not here, walking our realm but separate from it. You know it, you’ve seen it. Floki may be freer with himself, but he’s been here many years. If Athelstan were not so afraid, he might surprise you.”

He did not tell her that Athelstan always surprised him.

“Do you think you love him, Ragnar?”

“Don’t you?” he spat back.

“In a way, yes. It’s a simple thing, to care for him. He is loyal. He is honest. He forgives easy and often for things most men would kill. I could list many more of the finer gifts of Athelstan, but few of those are valued here,” she said. She leaned towards Ragnar again, hands flat on the table. “They are the reason, husband, he is seen differently. Why he stands out. It is the common ground he and Floki share, and it is probably why you want him.”

“I can’t just want him for his pretty face and tight ass?”

She threw a spoon at him and it bounced off his head. “If that was all you saw in him you would not be jealous.”

“He won’t forgive me for this,” Ragnar said, rubbing the knot forming above his brow.

“It wouldn’t matter if he did, so long as you hold his chains, Ragnar.” Lagertha rose with her belly leading the way, and came to kiss the bruise. “He’ll never be able to be more than a slave.”

 

***** 

 

Ragnar lazed on the boat, in the dark part of the stern. The winter had them all in the hall, all day long, and the noise had driven him out. Nor could he bear watching Athelstan wander the room, smiling at everyone but him.

“What happed to your David?”

He said nothing as Floki climbed over the side and held out a hand.

“He became king, and fathered the line which led to the birth of the Son of God.” Athelstan came with that hand when it pulled back.

“All that, for killing a giant?” Floki asked, leading him to bow.

Athelstan laughed. “No, he faced many trials, many challenges. He fought wars and rebuilt a city and brought together a lost people. He was a great man.”

They settled on the coiled ropes beneath the dragon, wrapped in cloaks and facing each other. Floki’s long legs were a bit awkward, causing bumped knees and shins, until he stretched them out on either side of Athelstan. “You will tell me more someday,” Floki said, smiling.

“Yes, of course,” Athelstan said, grinning back. “It’s a long story. It will take many nights.”

Floki was pleased. “That is good.”

They fell silent and Ragnar thought that he would tell them he was there, but before he could Athelstan reached out. He cupped his hand around Floki’s neck and drew him close. Ragnar waited, mouth still open to speak, and watched them kiss. His tongue drew slowly across his lip when the sleek shimmer of Athelstan’s darted out to lick at Floki’s mouth.

“Athelstan, you promised,” Floki murmured before catching the tip with his teeth.

Athelstan gasped, his other hand taking a fistful of tunic to pull him closer still. “It’s been a full turn of the moon. I’m healed.”

“Healed enough?” Floki asked. His next words were cut off by another kiss.

“Enough for this.” Athelstan let his hand slide down to rest between Floki’s legs. “Or, I could tell you about David.”

The happy, eager look on his face sent a lance of pain through Ragnar’s heart.

Floki hooked his arms beneath Athelstan’s legs and lifted them. Draping them over his own, he pulled Athelstan to rest on his lap. “No, I can wait,” Floki told him, smiling.

Ragnar stayed hidden.

They kissed for a long time, just swaying gently together in the falling twilight. Floki wrapped his large robe around them both so their bodies were one rhythmic mass. There was a flurry of elbows, poking strange shapes into the cloth, followed by mutual laughter. Athelstan panted and his body hitched forward, rocking hard against Floki.

Floki laughed and his head fell back with a groan. “Easy, elf, I’m an old man.”

“Not so old,” Athelstan breathed, and did something that made Floki jerk and shudder.

Clutching his cock through his pants, Ragnar bit his lips to keep silent.

It went faster now, with familiar grunts and sighs. Their movements became urgent, purposeful. Athelstan flung his head back with a cry and Floki dove to his throat, moaning against it as they seized and trembled together. Ragnar’s gut clenched and he spilled his seed in his trousers.

“I’ve missed your touch,” Floki said, breathlessly a few moments later.

Athelstan kissed him. He said, sadly, “I’m sorry.”

“It’s not your fault.” Floki looked into his face, serious and intent. “You know that, don’t you?”

“I know, Floki.”

“You would tell me if he troubles you, again, wouldn’t you?” Floki took a fistful of fabric, using his robe to clean them both.

“Of course, I would, but he’s been different,” Athelstan answered. He let his hand be wiped looking down at Floki’s fingers on it.

“Different?”

Athelstan frowned. “I know I should be happy and relieved that he ignores me, but he was so much of my life when I first came here. I still feel for him. I still miss his smile.”

Ragnar squeezed his eyes shut. There were no serpents in Hel that could wound him so much as those words did.

“Oh, Floki. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.” He opened his eyes to see Athelstan look up at Floki, a horrified, distressed look on his face. Floki leaned back, head tilted to the side.

“For what? Caring about him? That despite all he’s done, you still find room in your heart to love him?” He took Athelstan’s face in his hands and kissed him, softly. “That you do this still, and find room for me and Lagertha and Gyda and Bjorn and all of the other people who ripped you from your quiet life, is reason enough to tell you,  _I don’t care_. And that I’m not a bit surprised.”

They kissed and hugged and the words muttered against each other’s mouths sounded suspiciously like love. Ragnar watched them stand and adjust their clothes, and he watched them leave. He sat in the dark, messy and cold, alone and confused.

 

***** 

 

The winter was long and dismal, but a sense of ease was restored. His lesson learned, Ragnar spent more time with his wife and children and less brooding in hidden places. With raids, injury, and obsession, he had neglected their time and was now seeing how much Gyda and Bjorn had grown. He regretted that, and wished to waste no more of their days on foolishness.

And it was foolish, he’d realized. Foolish to see more, to expect more, as long as Athelstan remained his property. How could anything between them be true when one man held another’s life in his grasp? How would Athelstan ever not be afraid? The more he’d thought on it, the angrier he’d become, but he would take it into the forest, hunting well away from that place stained with blood and come. He would wrap himself in fur and go for the day, wander and hunt what he could, and return in time for supper. By then he was so cold and tired the simple pleasures of fire, food, and bed were enough to satisfy him.

He still harbored guilt for his actions, for he could find no way to repair his friendship with Athelstan. It made for awkward evenings for a while, but they eventually found a level of formal cordiality that made their interaction bearable. If, on occasion, he saw Athelstan look at him with wistful eyes, he pretended not to notice. And if Athelstan saw Ragnar smile sadly watching as he worked, he did not show it.

When Floki was there, Ragnar went to bed early.

“Stop sulking,” Lagertha told him one night, following him to their room.

Ragnar sighed and shook his head. He undid he belt and kicked off his shoes.

She stopped him before he removed his tunic. “It’s been months now. Go talk to him. Talk, Ragnar. It is not as hard as you are making it.”

“What do I say? I’ve told him I’m sorry. I’ve left him alone. What else can I do?”

“He is moving past it. Has moved past it. You are the one holding on. He misses you and you miss him,” she said. Her eyes were sad, too, and he cursed himself for failing yet one more of his family.

“There’s nothing I can do, Lagertha. I ruined what was there.”

“Then it’s time to start over.”

“How do we start over when he’s still a slave?”

She smiled and thumped his forehead. He winced. “I wish you’d stop doing that.”

“I do it in the hopes that one day you will use that gourd for its purpose.” She was laughing now, at him and because of him and…he didn’t mind so much.

“If you have any ideas, wife, I would gladly hear them.”

“You have to prove your word still means something.”

“Yes?”

“You know what to do, Ragnar. It’s time.”

 

***** 

 

It took him a week to be ready. Ragnar cautioned all involved against letting slip what they knew, but there was still an underlying anxiousness to the hall. He wondered if someone had spoken too much, but Athelstan seemed mindless of anything amiss as he chopped and stacked wood. He was singing, a sound Ragnar had not heard in a long time.

It cheered him, greatly.

“Athelstan!” he called.

Setting the axe aside, Athelstan turned while wiping his hands on his tunic. “Yes, my lord?”

“Would you walk with me a moment?”

“Yes,” he replied, perplexed. “Of course, my lord.”

“You used to call me Ragnar. Or,  _Ragnar Lothbrok_.” The last was said with a comically sinister sneer.

Athelstan opened his mouth, then dropped his chin and pursed his lips. “I did no such thing.”

“Oh, yes, you did,” Ragnar was grinning, too widely he was sure, but it felt good to tease him again. “I will do as you say,  _Ragnar Lothbrok_.  _Ragnar Lothbrok_ , I have brought your children.”

“I did not!” Athelstan protested, though it was bubbling with laughter. His cheeks were red.

“ _Ragnar Lothbrok_ , I have your dinner.”

“You called me  _priest_ ,” Athelstan fired back, the smile he fought finally lighting his face. “You only ever called me Athelstan when you wanted to bed me!”

They both froze, smiles fading. Ragnar cursed loud, in his head.

“I do want something now, Athelstan, but I mean you no harm. I only wish to speak with you,” Ragnar said, softly.

After a moment, he nodded, and Ragnar led them towards the water’s edge.

“The raids will begin anew. We sail at the next full moon. I will be leaving Lagertha and she is close to dropping the babe. Will you watch out for her? Help her in all she needs?” Ragnar asked, staring out at the harbor.

“Of course, I will,” Athelstan said, his offense at such needless request present in his voice.

“She will need you for more than shuttling bowls and cleaning. You will have many new duties.”

He could see Athelstan nod from the corner of his eyes.

“There will be trying times for you. Times that people will not heed your wisdom. I only ask that you be patient with them, for they will see, soon, that you are wise, indeed.”

Turning to look at him, Athelstan asked, “What are you doing?”

“And I ask for you to stay here until we return,” Ragnar continued. He turned also, and took Athelstan’s hand in his. “Wait, please, and while you wait, consider granting me forgiveness.”

Looking flustered, Athelstan’s eyes dropped. He watched Ragnar unfold his fingers and stroke over his palm. “Where would I go?”

Ragnar unhooked the golden band from his belt and placed it securely onto Athelstan’s wrist. “That would be up to you, but I’m asking, I’m  _begging_ , for you to stay.”

Athelstan swallowed. His eyes lifted to Ragnar’s face. “You…you’re freeing me?”

“I am, and as your earl, I ask that you would take the position of seneschal in Arne’s absence.”

Staring, his eyes wide with open astonishment, Athelstan said nothing.

“If it is in your heart, I would like to become friends again. Without the bond of slavery,” Ragnar finished. He still held Athelstan’s hand, and lifted it to his mouth to lay a kiss upon its back. “Please.  Just consider it. If you wish to leave when we return, I will take you wherever you want to go.”

“I will stay, Ragnar Lothbrok,” Athelstan said, so soft it was barely heard over the wind.

Ragnar smiled so wide he thought his face would split into halves. “Thank you. Thank you, priest.”

It took another moment for him to collect his thoughts, for he was happy in a way he hadn’t been in far too long. When he could speak again, he said, “I will present you as a free man tomorrow, when the men come to offer to raid with me. There will be great celebration in your honor after, and I expect a happy, drunken priest by the fire tomorrow night.”

He took a step closer, releasing Athelstan’s hand so that he might lay his on one shoulder. “I wanted you to have this now, though, so that you might share it in private tonight.”

Athelstan was so stunned he didn’t quite know what he’d meant. It took a nod from Ragnar, in the direction of the path by the water, for the intimation to become clear.

“You can go now,” Ragnar said. He gave a little push. “I’ll finish the wood.”

His fingers closed over the band, Athelstan began to turn away but stopped. Before Ragnar could send him off in a sterner manner, though, he stepped close and flung his arms around Ragnar’s neck.

“Thank you,” he whispered, tearfully. “And you should know, Ragnar Lothbrok, that I forgave you long ago.”

After a quick kiss to his cheek, Athelstan ran. His feet found the path to Floki’s tiny house and he disappeared in the trees.

Ragnar felt the full smile of the sun, of Odin, and his wife, who watched from the shade of the boathouse. Lagertha nodded, then with a twitch of her head and wink, started back to the hall.

It was a good day.

 

 


End file.
